It hasn't been this sunny in weeks, but today was radiant. Now is probably the time to mention that these outfits are worn a little over a week before I post them. So I can post stuff in the weekend. Taking a picture every day is difficult enough to remember, let alone do a post. But things are going well. I still love this skirt. And the glasses. They were for poor eyesight, but then it turns out that everyone who embroiders gets tired eyes, and I don't need glasses. So now they're sunglasses. Unexpectedly expensive but perfect sunglasses.
May 21st, 2015
I love this jacket. And I need to get those shoes to a cobbler, the heel is worn through. I will let you know how that goes. The shoes are from Vegetarian Shoes, one of my favourites. They are the most ethical shoe company I know of, and also relatively local, so no unexpected import taxes. The noses are a bit scuffed after three years, but they are gorgeous shoes, people keep complimenting me on them.
May 20th, 2015
Some of you will get angry as I confess that I have always felt super fat (starting from age 11), and that gaining 7 kilo's and then losing 5 of those during the last two years did not make it any worse or better (though walking up stairs became more difficult, as did finding the right bra). The experience pointed me to an immaterial (but not yet completely embodied) wisdom at least: no matter what my body does, I am conditioned to feel somewhere in-between a tiny whale-calf and an overgrown blimp because of all of the images and social constructs around me (especially since my one "acceptable" part is neither self-supporting nor tiny-nippled), so fuck it. We are all permanently told something is wrong with us and that stuff needs to be bought to combat that, and I am sick of it! I am showing midriff and will be wearing nothing but unattractive supportive armaments of bras for the rest of my life. Might not be a big deal for you, pointing out my relative youth and smoothness. I know, I am one small step away from becoming one of the size 0 people complaining about their massive weight. But still, my insecurities and delusions are symptomatic of something larger (as are those of the equally insecure size 0 people). They point to the fact that societal norms and ridiculous conditioning matter more than body acceptance at every size (and than a love of varied breasts), more than health, than happiness, and more than individual desire for one's own body and other people's bodies in a diverse way. So we should all wear crop tops (especially the men). And we should certainly all wear tights with the knees cut out. It is cold, non-functional, weird, makes me feel as though I am sex incarnate (I don't know why) and people will stare. So those are all perfect reasons to go for it!
May 19th, 2015
The attempt was Marilyn Monroe at the bottom, James Dean on top, but then I forgot to wear the James Dean jacket for the photo. I am also wondering if this is Mormon Marilyn (or alternatively: Amish Marilyn), which is a good question to consider before repeating this outfit. I am wearing the most comfortably heels I own, but I think I might just chuck out all the heels pretty soon. Though heels go a long way to me being able to look people in the eye, it might be time to face the fact that I am short and heels will fool no one. Looking like a short, crippled baby-giraffe has a certain charm, but it is conflicting more and more with my feminist sensibilities of comfort and self-defence. This is a long story. You'll hear if I ever decide. Until then, please let me know how conservative this look is on a scale of 1 to 10.
May 18th, 2015
We will not mention where I bought these dungarees, because that will make me feel so unethical that I might cry or, more likely, feel a combination of anger and guilt. Then why did I buy them? Because they are tiny. Basically, they are dwarfpants (is this a very insensitive term?, I am very into Tyrion Lannister these days), made to fit people 160 and under. As a person scarcely measuring 153 (somewhere between 5 ft and 5ft1), I was delighted to find something that made me look as though it was meant for me (instead of as though I am wearing something that has at least 10 centimetres of leftover fabric somewhere in the middle or on the bottom). When this pair of dungarees is threadbare, I will take them apart and construct a better, more durable pair from the pattern. That's how good they fit and how comfy they are.
May 17th, 2015
We have to accept one very simple fact: with regards to comfort nothing beats layers, leggings, and unisex or male tops. I don't know why we make the gendered distinction. I don't know why I even bother to gender my clothing, though maybe mentioning it will enlighten other female-identifying people to discover the comfort of crotch-allowance in pants. Besides, 1: my dad said there was a time when "ladyjumper" (that sounds dirty) was not a thing, but there was just "woolly jumper" (very gender-neutral but un-vegan), and 2: whatever the gentleman's outfits lack in aesthetics, they make up for in comfort. Even their boxer shorts do. The exception to this rule are of course the flowing skirts and leggings. Nothing could be more comfortable. So I would like to suggest we all switch to properly cut flowing skirts, and badly designed formless top-garments. The world will be a better place for it. And more people might be inappropriately approached by me and at least one of my friends with a shared fascination for skirts on people of the gender not societally conditioned to usually wear those.
May 16th, 2015
I was taking this picture as I was knitting. But then Boris decided that there is nothing better than closeness to knitted materials and the associated ends of dangling string. Hence yet another outfit that secretly makes me feel more like me than any presentable one would, and a cat. I fear that would be a perfect summary of my entire personality.
May 15th, 2015
I suspect this is the tip of the iceberg: many a gentleman's shirt will be worn in the pictures even though large boobs will not properly fit inside of them, while slouchy pants will allow me to sit comfortably while typing some assignment or other. I have so far learnt that I have a colour palette with regards to the wardrobe, and that bordeaux-ish red that sometimes tips over into purple is central to it. I have also learnt that I can be really grumpy when I take time off work to take a picture. My neutral expression is other people's Russian mafia mugshot.
May 14th, 2015
I have rarely felt better than in the last-bought skirt. It might be because it is (mustardy) yellow, and other people refuse to wear any kind of yellow (the FOOLS!). It might also be because it makes me feel like the one person I would love to resemble: Marilyn Monroe. Sure, some peroxide and a more coquettish smile (as well as the removal of cats) might be an easier way to emphasise our similar figures (I am basically her if some higher power decided she could do with at least 10 centimetres less length-wise), but fuck it, if bright yellow skirts give me the urge to sing "Diamonds are a girl's best friend", I am running with it. A kiss on the hand may be, quite continental...
Ps. It is awkward to admit this is how I gather self-worth, but some of Marilyn's pictures feature a bikini-zone that would be considered Amazonian (both in a jungle- and in a warrior-sense) by today's standards. So I hold on to that, respecting the fact that I might be one of those people who'd be appreciated for her brain rather than brawn, and believing that a well-photographed unkempt bush is worth a thousand words in dazzling beauty.
May 13th, 2015
I mentioned StyleLikeU yesterday. They are the best thing I have found with regards to internet and fashion ever (and a big inspiration for this experiment). They agree that I can wear whatever I want. Furthermore, they've convinced me that my love of kimonos and very bright tights is positively boring. I decided it was time to wear more kaftans anyway. So while the rest of this outfit is unethical, this flimsy bird-depicting kaftan thing is simply my mum's old shawl (she'd started to dislike the fabric), moth-deterioration and all, with 1 meter of ribbon and some handiwork on a sewing machine. I don't delude myself in thinking it flatters me, but I love the birds, and it still smells of my mum as I remember her when I was 8.
May 12th, 2015